Bakura and Malik's Totally Awesome World Tour
by dalduk
Summary: Just what it says on the tin. A WIP that will probably never be finished.
1. Beijing

When they land in Beijing, the first thing they do is get drunk. Well, not the very first thing. The very first thing Bakura does is wander out of the airport, grab a random person off the sidewalk, and demand to be taken to a bar. Malik, on the other hand, has to persuade a very pushy businessman that he is not a girl, and really isn't single. He has time to reflect that this would be easier if his boyfriend weren't off mauling cab drivers, before giving up and kneeing the man in the groin.

"You owe me a drink," he says as he slides into the cab next to Bakura. "And an orgy."

"Why a drink?" Bakura asks. His head bangs on the back of the seat in front of him when the cab lurches into motion. Malik only barely manages to save himself from a similar fate. "Ow."

"I could have thrown you over for the heir to one of the most prominent communications companies in the country," Malik informs him. "He just made me a very nice offer. He even said I could fly his jet."

Bakura snarls as the cab goes around several corners very sharply, sending its passengers lurching back and forth in their seats. "Bastard. I'll teach him to interfere with what's-" the cab takes another sharp turn, and Malik is thrown against his door with Bakura on top of him. "Mine," Bakura finishes, and leans down to kiss Malik roughly.

Malik, for his part, arches up into the kiss, trying not to moan too much. Bakura's ego really doesn't need the stroking. Though it would probably enjoy it. Much like certain other parts of Bakura. The thought is pleasantly distracting enough that it takes a few minutes for Malik to realize that the cab has actually stopped. It takes even longer to pry Bakura off him.

"Bar," he says at his boyfriend's annoyed growl. "Alcohol. Victims." Bakura growls again. "Seedy bathrooms to make out in."

They're out of the cab so fast the driver doesn't even have time to ask for his fare.

Once inside, Bakura loses a little of his intense focus in the face of the many distractions the bar offers. He procures them drinks by the simple expedient of grabbing two glasses off a table when the proper owners aren't looking. Malik takes the whiskey before Bakura can make him have the stupid pink girly drink.

It's got a flower in it. There are some things that are beneath even Malik's dignity.

Bakura glares at the glass, and empties it in one swallow. Then he glares at the glass again. "Pink things always taste funny," he grumbles.

"Yes, yes," Malik says. "You were the one who grabbed it, you know." He smugly sips his whiskey.

"Didn't notice that it was pink."

"It was practically glowing."

"I," says Bakura with great dignity, "was looking at something else."

"Like what?" Malik raises one eyebrow skeptically

"Like my incredibly hot boyfriend," Bakura replies triumphantly. "So there."

Malik is about to make a comment about maturity and which of them is currently lacking it when the rightful owner of his whiskey notices his drink is missing. Since Malik is still holding the partially-full glass and Bakura hasn't set down the cup the pink thing came in, identifying the culprits is almost pathetically easy.

The bar fight is even more impressive after Bakura gets bored and starts summoning Duel Monsters. Although Malik does sympathize with the screaming when Dark Necrophades appears; he likes and is used to Bakura's deck, and that monster still creeps him out. But the confusion does provide a nice cover, and Malik manages to liberate several bottles of the barman's finest before the cops show up and everyone starts running.

Bakura and Malik find a nice empty alley, and divide the spoils. Bakura has managed to accumulate a truly impressive pile of cash, as well as several watches and bracelets. And a few stranger treasures.

"Is that a tooth?" Malik stares at the small object in Bakura's palm and takes a drink out of the bottle of scotch they've opened.

"It was on the floor, I just grabbed it," Bakura says. "Solid gold filling." He grabs the bottle and takes a few swallows himself.

"Cool," Malik says. He has the awesomest boyfriend ever. Between the whiskey and the scotch and whatever was in the previous two unlabeled bottles, he's gotten a little tipsy. "I think you have too much clothes on."

Bakura smiles, slow and sharp. "So do you," he purrs, and Malik remembers that Bakura hasn't has nearly as much to drink as he has. Of course, Bakura also seems to suddenly have about ten hands, so it works out fine. Or something. At this point, Malik is too preoccupied to really care.

He wakes up with a splitting headache to the feeling of being in motion. Opening his eyes is too much trouble, so he just groans softly. The thing he's resting his head against shifts slightly, so it's probably a person.

"We're on a bus," Bakura says. He sounds like he's smiling. "I remembered not to kill the driver this time." Malik grunts something that could possibly be praise, and falls back asleep.


	2. Lost in Asia

Their current location really isn't big enough to be called a city; it barely qualifies as a town. Malik thinks they probably would have missed it completely if the bus hadn't broken down. He lost track of what country they were in several hours ago, and if the town has a name, he couldn't distinguish it from the rest of the unintelligible syllables these people call a language. It sounds like nothing he's ever heard before, although some phrases don't require a translator.

"You're under arrest" sounds pretty much the same no matter where you go, it turns out.

The prison cell is small, even by Malik's standards, and Bakura is having a sulking fit across half of it. Malik gave up on trying to talk him out of it a few hours ago, and now is seeing how long it will take to steal all his knives.

"Public indecency," Bakura snarls eventually. "You were supposed to be keeping watch." He slaps Malik's hand away from the stiletto hidden in the seam of his jeans. "Give those back."

Malik drops the pile of weaponry on Bakura's stomach. "I was a little distracted, you know. If you want me to be on the look out for cops, it helps if you keep your pants on."

"They weren't all the way off," Bakura protests and sits up. The knives fall off him with a crash, and he starts sliding them back into their hiding places. "And anyway, if you get to be naked, so do I. All the magazines say that equality is very important in a relationship."

"You've been stealing Anzu's mail again," Malik says. "Do you think this place has a bar?"

"Of course it has a bar," Bakura says. "Otherwise why the hell would anyone live here?" It's a valid point. Granted, they didn't have a chance to see much of the town, between one thing and another, but what they did see was spectacularly dull. Alcohol is probably the only thing that can make it tolerable for any period longer than a few hours.

It's far too easy to put the guard under the control of the Rod. The poor bastard has almost no willpower at all. "Boring," Malik mutters as their new friend escorts them out to the street, mumbling apologetic-sounding things. He's drooling a little, too.

"Don't worry, baby," Bakura snickers. "I'm sure you'll have another excuse to wave your Rod around soon."

The thunk of solid gold meeting flesh is immensely satisfying. Bakura clutches his head and swears in Egyptian, while Malik inspects the Rod for damage. It is a valuable artifact, after all.

"I'm going to have a huge lump," Bakura says, gingerly rubbing the back of his skull. "I'm probably concussed. I'm going to bleed out through my brain and die. Again. And it'll be all your fault. Again. Bastard."

"I'm sorry," Malik says sweetly. "What was that? You want me to abandon you in the middle of nowhere and run off with the Pharaoh?"

"He'd mind crush you the minute you put your hand down his pants and you know it," Bakura replies. His eyes glitter dangerously, though, and Malik guesses he's in for another evening of demonstrating exactly who owns his ass now, which is just fine by him. Bakura is so much more creative when he thinks he has something to prove.

Of course, creative was what landed them in jail in the first place, but it's the middle of fucking nowhere, so it doesn't really count. And as soon as Malik gets his hands on a lighter, there won't even be any paperwork left to annoy them. He shares this thought with Bakura, who smirks and pulls out three of them from some hidden pocket.

"I knew there was a reason I loved you," Malik says with a smirk, and Bakura grins back at him, all teeth.

Half an hour later, Malik stands with his back pressed against a burning building, pants around his ankles and Bakura on his knees before him. Around him, the entire town is on fire. He can distantly hear people screaming and fleeing, and he knows that eventually they'll have to leave too, but right now it seems far more important to fist his hand in Bakura's hair and make the bastard stop bloody teasing.

Half an hour after that, they're racing through the empty countryside on stolen motorcycle. It's nowhere near as fancy as the one Malik left behind in Japan, but Bakura is pressed tight against Malik's back like a second skin, still smelling of smoke and sex and sand, and the stars overhead are bright, and it's good enough for now.


End file.
